When I Breathe
by KHutchinson
Summary: A convenience store hold-up goes horribly wrong and Hutch's life hangs in the balance. Can a partners' bond save him?
1. one

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill. No money gained, no ownership claimed.

**Summary: **A convenience store hold-up goes horribly wrong and Hutch's life hangs in the balance. Can a partners' bond save him?

**Category: **Drama / Starsky Angst / Hutch h/c

**Rating: **PG-13 for violence

**When I Breathe**

by KHutchinson

I wish I coulda had some warning. Woulda been nice, you know, to have some clue when I got up that morning just what was about to go down. I mean, would it'a killed the Almighty to wave His hand and spell out a message in my Corn Flakes or something? Let Moses part the Red Sea, sure, but sorry, Starsky, can't spare the godly energy to move a couple'a flakes of breakfast cereal.

I just wish I woulda known. Just a hint, a little elbow nudge in the right direction. Cause maybe...maybe if I'd known, I'd'a treated him better when I saw him, you know, said all that important stuff that you always think you're gonna have time to say later. Like I love ya, partner. You're my best friend in the whole world, my buddy, my _brother_, and I love ya.

But what'd I say? "You're late." Peering at him up over the tops of my sunglasses, glaring. Some friend I am.

But Hutch just grinned at me. He was bouncing down the front steps of his apartment like they were made outta marshmallow or something, and it was hard to keep glaring at him with that big row of pearly whites flashing at me. His hair was all bright and shiny, like he'd spent half the morning brushing it, and he was wearing a pair of bell-bottomed blue jeans along with that green zip-up shirt under his black jacket. And with the damned mustache finally gone and his hair cut short again, he looked...I don't know, he looked like _Hutch_ again. _My_ Hutch, not the pod person who's been walkin' around wearing his skin for the last couple months.

God, it felt good to have him back. But that still didn't change the fact that we were running late, leaving me no time to grab some donuts on the way. And I was aching for donuts like they were a heavy narcotic.

"Sorry, Starsk," Hutch said, but it was pretty obvious he wasn't all that torn up about making me wait. He grinned. "Had to feed the fish."

I narrowed my eyes at him, having been suckered way too many times to fall for yet another Hutchinson Whopper. "Ya don't _have_ any fish, Hutch."

"Oh," he said, still grinning, and brushed past me to grab onto the Torino's passenger side door. He was chomping on some bubble gum—probably sugar-free or made outta seaweed or something—but he quit it for long enough to throw me a wink. "Must'a been the cat, then."

Rolling my eyes, I pushed my sunglasses back onto the bridge of my nose and circled to the driver's seat. "Oh, yeah, what's her name?" I asked in a dry voice, sliding into the seat and tugging the door closed behind me. It squeaked a little bit as it went, but thankfully Hutch didn't notice, or he'd'a been going on about mice in the backseat or something again. Real comedian, my partner. I started up the engine.

The grin got a little wider. The guy was shameless. "Marianne."

"Uh-huh. Thought so."

Before we could say any more about it, though, the radio squawked, and with another gum-chewing grin, Hutch brought the thing up to his mouth and said sweetly, "Good _morning_, this is Zebra Three; what can we do for you?"

"Zebra Three, this is control," Mildred replied, doing us all a favor and ignoring Hutch's good mood. "Report of a two eleven in progress at 450 Mercelle Street; officers at the scene requesting back-up. Proceed with caution; suspects are armed and dangerous."

Hutch was in detective mode in less than a second, looking all grim and serious, and the gum was suddenly gone, though I hadn't seen him throw it out. He exchanged a look with me before he answered, like he was saying, _You ready for this, partner?_ I gave him a little nod in return, already swinging the Torino around to head towards Mercelle, and he brought the radio back up to his lips: "We're on it, control. Zebra Three out."

"450 Mercelle," I said as we took a few tire-squealing turns. "That's that antique shop, isn't it?"

Hutch shook his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him adjusting his gun in its holster, then unzipping the jacket all the way so he could get easier access to it. "Nah, the antique shop's on _Mercy_."

"The hell kind of a name for a street is Mercy?"

"I don't know, Starsk, I didn't name it."

"Well, what's at 450 Mercelle then?"

"Convenience store, I think. Yeah, look; right there."

He nodded towards a building at the end of the block, and I felt my jaw go tight. It was a convenience store, all right—and spread out in front of it were two black and white units, their officers hunched down behind the cars while bullets zinged out the store's front window.

"Terrific," I muttered.

We parked a safe distance away, out of range of the bullets, and after another quick glance at each other, pulled out our guns and headed for the store, crouched real low so the police cars'd protect us once we got closer. When we were finally in position, hunched down by the rear wheel of the first car, one of the officers already there crawled over to us. He was a uniform, bald, black, and thin, a real nice guy named Tully who'd kicked my ass at ping pong a few times over the years.

"As you might've guessed," he said, raising bushy eyebrows at us, "we're having kind of a situation here. Looks like the perps are a couple'a kids, four or five of 'em, and I betcha not a one of them is older than seventeen."

"This day just gets better and better," I muttered.

We heard a loud pop then, and suddenly the car rocked a little bit, like it was sinking down into the ground; took me a minute to realize that one of the bullets had deflated the front tire, but Hutch got it right away. I could tell by the way he was looking at me, one blond eyebrow raising at the sudden tense look on my face. I gave him a quick glare in return and turned my attention back to Tully.

"We have them pinned down," Tully continued, "but they're keeping a pretty sharp watch on the doors. There's a couple of officers around back in case they slip up and let their guard down for a second, but I don't know if that's gonna happen. Kids or not, these guys know what they're doing. It's gonna be tough to get close enough to take 'em out."

"Is anyone inside?" It was Hutch, using his low, ultra-serious detective voice; I tell ya, the guy shoulda been in broadcasting.

"Yeah," Tully said with a grimace, "and that's where things get sticky. Jake and me got a glimpse in there before the shooting started, and it looks like these guys have some hostages. The clerk, for one, but also a woman. Young, real pretty—" He gave us a Bad News Is Coming wince. "—and with kids."

Hutch's face got all tight and pinched, and I knew my expression was probably about the same. "How many?" he asked quietly.

"Three. A baby in a stroller and two little ones, maybe three or four years old."

I swore. "Oh, that's just great."

"Yeah," Tully agreed grimly. "We try to storm the place, and there's no guarantee those guys aren't gonna turn around and hurt the little girls. And that's sure as hell not something I want on _my_ conscience."

I looked at Hutch. He was thinking the same thing I was, I knew he was, but it'd be dangerous, and I wasn't gonna volunteer us for it without his permission. He nodded.

"Okay," I told Tully, gripping my gun a little more firmly, "Hutch and me'll go around to the back, try to slip inside without them noticing. You guys keep 'em extra busy up front here, huh?" I turned back to my partner. "Whaddya think, the ole knock-stuff-over-and-hope-it-distracts-the-bad-guys-for-long-enough-to-take-'em-out trick?"

Hutch gave me a tight grin. "Sounds good to me, partner."

"Now, hang on for just one minute," Tully protested, holding up his hands. "You guys crazy? We got more backup coming—backup with _bulletproof vests_. You're not goin' in there without protection; they're wound up so tight they'd shoot at ya for breathin' wrong."

I looked at Hutch again. He gave another nod.

"No time," I told Tully. "If those punks are as trigger happy as you seem to think, what's to keep 'em from turning on those little girls or their mom before any of us can even make a move? Besides," I added with a nod at Hutch, "I got all the protection I need from this guy right here."

"We'll be careful, Tully," Hutch promised, patting him on the shoulder. And then Hutch and I exchanged a glance, nodded, and took off around opposite sides of the building, keeping low so the kids with the guns wouldn't realize we were comin' until it was too late. We came around the back at the same time, both of us running in a crouch (which is tough on the knees, let me tell ya), our guns out and our eyes on the back door.

"Hey, Hutch," I breathed as we approached it, and he looked at me like the same thought was running through his head. "Where're the officers Tully said were back here?"

After that, things happened too damned fast. One second, we were moving towards the door and Hutch was opening his mouth to answer me...and the next, the back door flew open and all of a sudden there was a gun tracking towards us. Well, correction. Towards _me_. There was a kid behind the gun, some gangly freckle-faced thing with a shock of red hair, but I wasn't so much interested in him as the Magnum in his hand. Its barrel was swinging towards me like a slow-mo scene in the movies, and what with the element of surprise and all my momentum going the wrong way, I knew there was no way in hell I was gonna be able to get out of its path in time.

And suddenly I remembered what it'd felt like when Gunther's men fired those bullets into me—the way they tore into me, burning through my skin like…you know, there's not even anything I can compare it to, but God, did it hurt. So as you might imagine, I wasn't real anxious to have a repeat performance. Didn't seem like I had a lot of choices, though.

But Hutch, damn him, had other ideas. I have no idea how he managed it. None at all. He was too far away from me and was just as surprised as I was, but somehow, the guy managed to get himself in front of me. One second, it was red hair and a gun barrel and my life before my eyes, and the next, it was his back, broad and strong and covered in black leather, and before I could even draw a breath to shout his name, I heard the bang of the gun and Hutch kind of...kind of jerked, and made a quiet little "oof" sound like he'd just had the wind knocked out of him.

And then he fell. His legs crumbled underneath him, his whole body going boneless, and the next second he was in my arms and we were sitting there on the ground, the back of his head limp against my shoulder, his blood already leaking out onto my hands.

For a couple seconds, I couldn't breathe. Hutch had been shot. Hutch had been _shot_, and that heat on my hands was his _blood_.

_Oh Jesus, Hutch, why the hell'd you do that?_

The kid still had the door open, and through it, I could see the other cops, the two Tully'd said had gone around back. They were both lying there inside the door, dead or just about dead, and I knew right then that the next bullet in Red's gun was for _me_. But ya know, I couldn't really bring myself to care. After that first shocked second, I didn't even look at the kid again; my whole world was Hutch, like it's always been.

Even though I was shaking so bad I could hardly move, I managed to shift him so I could check out his wound. He was still breathing—I could feel it since he was pressed up against me—but I didn't know how long that was gonna last. There was already so much blood...

Dimly, I heard a weird clicking sound from the door, but it was awhile before I realized it was the sound of the kid's gun coming up empty. Out of bullets, if you can believe it. Guess the Almighty wasn't so lazy that day after all. Anyway, the kid left Hutch and me alone after that, disappearing back into the store—maybe for another gun, I don't know, but I didn't intend to stick around to find out. Hutch was hurt pretty bad—bullet right through the chest, so close to his heart that it made me shiver—and I knew damn well that if I didn't get him to a hospital pretty soon, he wasn't gonna make it.

"Come on, Hutch," I said, my voice trembling as I got my arms around him and started to drag him away from the door. "We gotta get you some help, buddy. Y-You're bleedin' all over your favorite shirt."

He didn't move. Not even a flicker of his eyelids.

After a couple seconds of dragging him, I got the bright idea to try to stop the bleeding. I tore off a strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt and pressed it tight against the wound, right there on the left side of his chest under the breastbone, and then made sure I was applying pressure to it as we moved. It was hard work. There were a couple of windows along the back of the store, and I had to keep crouched low to stay out of their sight—and out of firing range. So I was kind of crab-walking backwards, dragging Hutch along with his back pressed to my chest and my arms wrapped around him, holding the balled up T-shirt in place over his wound.

We got about halfway to the front before my strength gave out and I had to stop for a sec, catch my breath. I didn't want to; if I could've, I'd'a kept on carrying him until I fell over dead from exhaustion, but my legs kinda decided for me. My legs, and my lungs. Ever since Gunther, I've had to watch my exertion—depleted lung capacity, or some other medical mouthful like that—and hauling around my unconscious Viking of a partner was a little more of a workout than I was used to. So I had to stop and sit down, gasping and wheezing, my legs and lungs burning, and wait until I could breathe again.

Hutch still hadn't twitched, and his own breathing was getting real shallow and thin; there was a little froth of blood on his lips, and even I knew that was a bad sign.

"Hang in there, buddy," I whispered, pressing my lips close to his ear, hoping my words might reach him somehow. "Don't you dare go anywhere." I shook my head. "Not like this. No way."

_Not when it shoulda been me._

I started dragging him again after that, and was about four feet away from the front of the building when everything got way too quiet. The guns were still blasting away and the sirens of approaching police cars were still wailing in the distance, but suddenly, it was just too quiet. Like that hush that falls over everything after it snows, or that sweaty silence that comes over you just before you pass out. It was like that. It was deafening.

I stopped, my legs going out underneath me, dropping me hard onto my butt on the ground. And slowly, very slowly, I realized what had happened.

Hutch had stopped breathing.

I'm pretty gifted with curse words, and it's always been a point of pride with me that I can string together some exotic combinations when the mood suits me. But sitting there in the dirt, looking at Hutch and knowing that he wasn't breathing, that he was _dying_, I had nothin'. No words. Not even a sound.

I was shaking as I laid him down on the ground, cradling his head in my hands, feeling his fine, silky hair between my fingers. He wasn't breathing. God, he wasn't breathing! His face was slack—grey—and you know how sometimes they say it just looks like people are sleeping, like any second they might open their eyes and be fine again? It's a damned lie. He looked like a corpse, his face all bloodless and cold, his eyes shut tight.

He was dying on me. Leaving me. Hutch—Hutch was leaving me.

All of a sudden, I was angry, furious. How _dare_ he do this to me? How _dare_ he just up and..._leave_ me like this, with no back-up, no partner, no one to sit around and get drunk and play Monopoly with. It was damned selfish of him, and hell if I was gonna let him get away with it!

We'd had a couple first aid courses in the Academy, so I knew CPR, but I'd only ever used it once before, what felt like lifetimes ago. As I tilted Hutch's head back and pinched his nose shut, I couldn't help remembering Gillian's still body underneath me, her lips so cold against mine—like a mannequin, not a person. I knew it was hopeless the second I touched her, that she wasn't coming back no matter how much breath I forced into her lungs, but I had to try, for Hutch. But I knew she was dead. And then Hutch was there, his voice so small…

_What's goin' on?_

Suddenly, the memory was so real that I could feel his arms around me, clutching me tight, feel his tears soaking into my shirt.

_God, Hutch, don't you dare die on me. Don't you dare._

Drawing in a deep breath, I leaned over Hutch and pressed my lips to his, molding our mouths carefully together so no air would escape. In, one-two-three. His chest rose weakly with the breath, sank with the automatic exhalation…and then fell still again. _Damn it!_ I tried again, feeling hot tears stinging my eyes but not letting them fall. In, one-two-three. Wait, one-two-three. In, one-two-three.

Nothing. Shaking, I fumbled around for his arm, his wrist, pressed my fingers against the pulse point. Shifted them, pressed again. Again.

_Oh my God._

No, no, I had to just be...just be missing it. It was _there_, it had to be! _Had_ to be. I tried his throat next, curling my hand snugly around it so there wouldn't be any chance of my missing the spot. And when there was nothing there, I laid my head on his chest and waited for that rhythmic thump against my ear…but there was nothing.

Nothing. No pulse.

No. Just...just like that? One shot, one damned shot, and suddenly he was gone? No! That wasn't how it was supposed to happen! There was supposed to be _time_, precious last moments to say goodbyes—hold his hand, tell him I loved him, tell him how much he meant to me, how much I was going to miss...

I slumped back against the wall, barely feeling it as the back of my head hit the concrete. It was like somebody'd sucked all the air outta the world. Like I was sitting there in the middle of outerspace, alone and cold in the dark.

_Hutch_.

I don't know how long I sat there beside him, just...staring. Not touching him. Not holding his hand or stroking his hair, just sitting there, watching him, tracing the familiar lines of his face and wishing he'd sit up and talk to me. I don't know if I was even breathing. Sometime later, though, I heard footsteps hurrying towards me, and then suddenly there were people all around—paramedics, I recognized dimly. Where the hell had they come from?

_Does it matter?_ I countered savagely. _Hutch is dead. His heart isn't beating and he's not breathing and he's _dead_. He's gone._

They crowded around him, saying stuff—probably to me—that I couldn't hear or understand. I just sat there and watched, feeling a little like a deflated balloon, my eyes locked on Hutch's face. Even lying there all lifeless and empty, there was a beauty to him. Golden hair, handsome features, his skin all pale—white; like marble. Like a statue. And that's all he was, now, wasn't it? A shell. A body. There was no Hutch anymore, not in there. The tears burned in my throat, but I didn't dare cry.

Who was gonna hold me if I did?

The world started to swim a little, but I didn't blink; I just kept staring, my body still, frozen, while the paramedics worked on Hutch. Everything was too bright, searing my eyes, and I was starting to feel tingly all over, kind of like I was floating, probably because I was too still to breathe. I should breathe, I thought vaguely, but I just…couldn't. My lungs were burning, begging for air, but I couldn't give it to them. I couldn't do anything but sit there and float, listening to my heartbeat pounding plaintively in my ears.

_Breathe,_ it was pleading. _Breathe. Please, you have to breathe._

I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, but it hurt.

_It hurts, Starsk, please, it hurts so much..._

It hurts…

And just like that, impossibly, I understood.

We're partners, Hutch and me. Me and thee, thee and me, Starsky and Hutch, Husky and Starch—two halves of the same whole. When he hurts, I hurt. That's just how it works with us. There's a connection there between us, something that binds us together, links us.

When he hurts, I hurt, and when I hurt, he hurts.

And when I breathe…

When I breathe…

My heart was hammering against my rib cage, getting frantic for lack of oxygen, and I knew that this was it—I had to take a breath or I was gonna pass out, but damn it, not without him. Not without Hutch.

_C'mon, Hutch,_ I pleaded silently. _Let's do this, huh? Let's do this together. Everything's better when it's together, right? So, c'mon, let's go. I'm not doing this without you, partner. No way. _

I lost control, then—couldn't hold it in anymore. Oxygen rushed into my throat in a harsh, greedy gasp, filling my aching lungs and chasing the darkness from the edges of my vision…and through the legs of the paramedics, I saw Hutch's chest arch up off the ground, his mouth gaping and his eyes flying open. I let the air out, then, let it seep out through my parted lips…and he did this same, falling weakly back against the ground. I drew in a second breath, this one a bit less desperate, and watched, fascinated, as he followed in perfect synch.

He was breathing again. No. _We_ were breathing again.

The paramedics were talking loud and fast, now, something about being stabilized but needing emergency surgery—bullet wound to the chest, no exit wound, probable lung damage...

Life washed back over me in a rush, and I rocketed to my feet as they pulled him onto a stretcher. An instant later, I was at his side, gripping his hand hard in mine and completely ignoring the paramedic who was telling me to give him some space. Instead, I gripped Hutch's hand more tightly and leaned over him, made sure his eyes locked with mine, and then pressed my forehead to his and pulled in a deep breath at the same time he did. With our mouths so close, it was like we were drawing the air from inside each other, like Hutch was my oxygen and I was his.

I knew, then, that I didn't have to say anything. I didn't have to tell him what he meant to me or how cold life would be without him, because he knew. It wasn't an accident, our bodies falling into rhythm with each other—it was how it was supposed to be. We're partners, Hutch and me, and as long as I keep breathing, so will he. Knowing that—feeling the throb of his heartbeat against my forehead and knowing it was pacing my own perfectly—I could finally relax, finally back off and let the paramedics take him into the ambulance. It was gonna be okay. As long as we kept breathing, it'd be okay.

I held his hand during the ride to the hospital, squeezing his fingers every now and then so he'd squeeze mine back against the pain. He was really hurting, and it wasn't just memory of my own brushes with bullets that told me that. I could feel it. Sounds like something outta the Twilight Zone, but honest to God, I could feel it. The pain was kind of…muted, not anywhere near what I knew Hutch had to be feeling, but it was real enough. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat—_our_ heartbeat—and it was like magma in my chest, searing out onto my skin through the itchy dressings the paramedics had applied.

The worst, though—the worst came from deep inside of me, from the spot where I could feel that cold little pellet of lead lodged, stuck. It didn't hurt, not exactly, but it made me shiver to feel it there, 'cause it was an intruder, a trespasser. It wasn't supposed to be there, and feeling it there, nestled up against my bone, was the worst feeling of violation I could imagine. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch, creeping around inside of me until I wanted to scream and claw at it, rip at the skin until it was finally out, finally _gone_.

I gripped Hutch's hand harder, seeing the panic in his eyes and knowing where it was coming from. "Steady, Hutch," I said firmly. "Calm down, babe; they'll get it out of you. They'll get it out real soon."

He managed a nod, not even surprised that I knew what was going through his head, and we drew in a long, slow breath together.

_Stay calm,_ I chanted inwardly, forcing myself to relax, knowing that if I could feel Hutch's pain, then maybe he could feel what was going on inside of me, too. _Calm. Deep breaths. Try to relax._

Hutch got it, I could see the change in his face right away. Most of the lines smoothed away, even the deep one between his eyebrows, and his fingers loosened a little on mine, his muscles losing some of their tension. And it was strange, but relaxing into it—accepting the pain—made it easier to bear, and by the time we pulled up in front of the hospital, Hutch wasn't looking so panicked, and we were both taking in deep, calming breaths.

"It's gonna be okay," I murmured as the paramedics lifted the stretcher, jostling Hutch and sending another flare of pain through his chest. "Just keep on breathin', huh? Don't tense up again, that'll only make it worse."

"Sir," one of the paramedics said, peering at me like he was trying to decide whether or not I was all human, "you're going to have to let go of his hand. Once we get inside, they're going to need you out of the way so they can work on him."

We had crawled out of the ambulance by then and they were hauling Hutch inside, me still hanging onto his fingers like letting go would break whatever was binding us together. "Yeah, all right," I muttered, "I got it. But I gotta be in there. While they're doin' whatever they're doin', I gotta be in there with him."

"Sir," the paramedic continued uncertainly, "that's generally not permitted…"

He said some more stuff after that, something about sterile environments and blahblahblah, but I tuned him out. Hutch was starting to hurt again, worse than before, and he was having trouble keeping his body from getting all tense again. It was that damned bullet, that's what was doing it. He was feeling it inside him again, knowing it was stuck in there and there was nothing he could do to get it out—if only he could just reach his fingers in there and grab it, yank it out…

I caught his hand just before it got to the wound, pushed it gently back to his side.

"Hutch—_Hutch_." We were in the hospital now and moving down a white hall, closer and closer to the double doors of the ER. "Hang in there, buddy. I swear, Hutch, they're gonna get it outta you real soon. _Real soon_, babe. Please, just hang on. Take it easy, partner, they'll get it out." His hand lifted again, feebly grabbing at the wound, but I caught it, held it to against my chest with both hands. "It's gonna be okay, Hutch; it'll be out before ya know it, I promise. Trust me, huh, buddy? You trust me?"

The ER doors loomed in front of us, and a hand latched onto my arm, tugging me away from Hutch. His fingers slid through mine, and I lost my grip. "Sir, we'll need you to—"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," I snarled. My hand felt cold and empty without his to hold onto. "Fine, just…just get that bullet outta him, will ya? It's drivin' him crazy."

"Sir—" It was a nurse talking to me now, but I was too busy keeping my eyes on Hutch as he was wheeled into the ER to even glance at her. She coulda been the creature from the black lagoon or Farrah Fawcett, and I wouldn't'a noticed. "—they're going to take excellent care of him; you'll see. They know what they're doing. Now, if you could fill out a few forms for your friend…?"

I glanced at her. She was kinda pretty, a little older than me. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure. Forms." She led me over to the nurse's desk, pulling out a sheaf of papers and a clipboard—but I only got through a couple questions before the thing fell out of my hands with a clatter.

My chest was on fire, burning white-hot, but it was my stomach that was the real problem—it was churning and boiling, hot bile creeping up, clawing at my throat…

Tossing the pen back at the desk, I spun and sprinted towards the ER, hearing nurses and orderlies and God only knew who else shouting at me to stop but not listening. I slapped my palms into the doors and skidded through, searching the room frantically for that familiar shock of blond hair—and all of a sudden, there it was. Hutch was lying on his back on some surgical table, a cluster of doctors and nurses around him, but none of 'em could see how green his face was getting—they were all focused on his wound, on sewing it up and stopping the flow of blood. None of 'em had a clue he was about to lose it.

"HEY!" I bellowed, racing towards them and ignoring the shocked looks that came over their faces at the sight of me. "Hey, he's gonna throw up, turn him on his side! DO IT, you bastards, you want him to choke?"

They musta thought I was nuts. Certifiable. But nuts or not, I guess Hutch's life was more important than calling in the white coats, 'cause one of the nurses right away got her arms around Hutch and turned him onto his side—just in time. Vomited all over their nice tiled ER floor, and when he was done, for at least three full seconds, every eye in the place was on me.

Finally, though, the doctors seemed to remember they were workin' on a patient, and they got their attention back on Hutch. And when I stayed there beside the bed, watching and keeping my eyes locked on his, nobody argued.

Twenty minutes later, the bullet was out, plinking onto the metal tray at the bedside, and I felt Hutch go weak with relief. The wound itself still hurt like hell, even with the painkillers they were pumping into him, but the bullet was out. His body was his own again, and finally, he could rest. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, and while the doctors worked at patching him up, Hutch slept. And I stayed right there and watched over him. And kept breathing.

_To Be Cont__inued…_


	2. two

A couple hours later, Hutch had had a blood transfusion and was doing better, so the docs moved him to a private room. I wanted to stay with him, but I knew he was gonna be okay now—and that if he wasn't, I was damned well gonna know about it—so I didn't put up too much of a fight when Dobey showed up and asked me to come out to the waiting room with him. He was calling me "Dave," again, so I guessed he'd heard how bad Hutch'd been when the ambulance got there—but even that didn't faze me. Hutch was gonna be okay. Dobey coulda told me World War III had just broken out and I'd'a still been on top of the world.

"Can I get you anything?" Dobey asked me as we sat down. "Cup of coffee? You're looking pretty worn out, son."

I shook my head. "No, thanks, Cap'n; I'm okay."

Dobey nodded gruffly, which was a pretty clear sign that he was feeling anything but gruff. "That was good work you and your partner did with that hold-up," he said after a second.

I frowned. "Good work? Cap'n, we didn't do a damned thing. You want the official report, we ran around back, the kid jumped out at us with the gun, and then Hutch got shot and I ended up on my ass on the ground. Wasn't exactly our finest moment."

"You held it together in a crisis," Dobey grunted. "Got Hutch out of the line of fire after he was hit and then did CPR until the paramedics could get there."

I laughed, but it came out sounding sharp—kinda bitter. "Cap'n, I told ya before, I didn't do a damned thing. The kid's gun came up empty, or Hutch and me'd both be splattered all over the sidewalk right about now." I looked down at the floor, a bad taste suddenly in my mouth. "And it wasn't me doin' CPR that saved Hutch," I said quietly. "I-I didn't even do it for long enough. Just…panicked and gave up. If that ambulance hadn'ta come…" I shook my head, noticing that my hands were starting to tremble again.

When I was sitting there in the ambulance with Hutch, everything was so clear, and I knew that he was gonna be okay, that everything was gonna turn out fine. But now, it was starting to hit me just how close it'd really been. He'd been _dead_. Hutch had been _dead_. I couldn't help a ghost of a smile (forgive the expression) at the thought. "Guess we've both been to the other side now, huh?"

Dobey looked at me like he thought I was losing my mind, and I probably was—but I couldn't explain, not right then. Thinking about all that doom and gloom, I suddenly wanted to see Hutch so bad it choked me, so I got up outta the chair and hurried off down the hall towards his room, glad that Dobey seemed to understand and didn't even bother to holler after me.

Hutch was asleep when I got in there, but that was no big surprise. What with the anesthetics and the blood loss and all the other stuff he'd gone through, he was pretty wiped out—and to tell ya the truth, so was I. It was still pretty early in the day, only around noon or so, but I was ready for bed. So I dragged one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs over to Hutch's bed and pillowed my head in my arms, close enough to Hutch so I'd know if he so much as twitched. Close enough to feel the body heat coming off of his hand. And then I closed my eyes and, within a minute or two, was fast asleep.

Next thing I knew, there was a hand on my shoulder and somebody was shaking me awake; I sat up with a start, noticing it was dark outside, and rubbed my eyes a couple times. Hutch was still out, though he was breathing a little quicker than he'd been before. Wondering if it would help, I tried slowing my own breathing, and sure enough, his got all calm and relaxed at the same time. That done, I turned around and saw Hutch's doc—a tall, youngish guy with glasses—standing behind me with the weirdest look on his face.

"How did you do that?" he asked me quietly. He was holding one of those clipboards docs always seem to be dragging around with them, and he tapped a ballpoint pen against it while he watched me.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "Whaddya mean?" I said at last, settling on outright denial, since there was no way in hell I could explain what was _really_ goin' on.

The doc's frown got a little deeper. "I saw you, Mr. Starsky. You woke up, noticed that Mr. Hutchinson's breathing rate was elevated, and slowed your own. …and his slowed with it." He chewed on his lip, tapping the pen a little harder. "I suppose it could just be a coincidence, but from what I hear from the ER doctors, this isn't exactly your first display of an almost…supernatural knowledge of Mr. Hutchinson's condition. Would you care to explain?"

I gave the guy a wincing smile. "Don't think I could if I had to, Doc."

He stared at me for a hell of a long time after that, looking like he was trying to figure out whether or not I was telling him the truth, and then finally he sighed and dropped the clipboard down to his side. "All right, Mr. Starsky," he said, taking off his glasses and looking kinda tired. "In any case, visiting hours are long over, and it would be best for both you and Mr. Hutchinson if you were to go home and get some rest. You can come back first thing in the morning if you—"

"No."

We both blinked, and you know why? 'Cause we were _both_ surprised. I sure as hell hadn't intended for that to come outta my mouth—I mean, it wasn't like I _wanted_ to leave, but the guy made a certain amount of sense. I wasn't gonna do Hutch any good just sitting here, and I _was_ pretty damned tired…but when I opened my mouth to tell the doc sorry, I'd do what he said, my mouth just didn't wanna obey.

"I'm not leavin' him."

The hell? _Sorry, Doc, I'll go,_ I tried to say, but what came out this time was, "Hutch needs me, and I'm not leavin' until he's ready for me to."

The doctor slid the glasses back onto his nose. "Mr. Starsky, I understand your concern, but—"

There was a rustle from the bed right then, stopping the doc mid-sentence, and we both turned around to see Hutch laying there with his eyes closed just as tight as ever…but his arm was moving. It was reaching out, his fingers straining for something—for me. And right then I figured it out, that it was _Hutch_ puttin' words in my mouth somehow, 'cause _Hutch_ needed me to stick around. Quick as that, I scooted my chair over and grabbed onto his hand. His fingers laced in between mine like they were meant to be there, and even though he was out cold, his grip was so firm I could never'a left him then even if I'd wanted to.

The doctor—Stevenson, I finally saw on his name badge—frowned a little bit more, then sighed again and stared hard at me. "All right," he said. "It seems as though the patient would…benefit from your presence for a bit longer. I'll alert the nurse's station that you're to be granted after-hours privileges to his room, and we'll see about having a bed made up for you."

I grinned, feeling Hutch's fingers suddenly relax against mine, like he knew it was all set and I wasn't going anywhere. "Thanks, Doc."

Shaking his head, Stevenson turned and left the room, scribbling like mad on his clipboard as he went. Looking back at Hutch, I saw that he was smiling a little in his sleep, and I couldn't help smiling, too.

"I'm right here, buddy," I whispered, bringing his hand up to my forehead and holding it there for a couple seconds. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Hutch. You just relax. I'm not goin' anywhere."

* * *

I was dreaming. Weird thing was, though, it didn't _feel_ like a dream, but since I could remember pretty clearly goin' to sleep in Hutch's hospital room, I knew it was all in my head. But that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it while I was stuck there.

We were at the beach, Hutch and me, sittin' in comfy blue lawn chairs with our bare feet buried in the sand. The sun was risin' way out over the waves—which was another clue, I guess, since we live in _California_—and everything smelled all fresh and clean and salty. Grinning, I glanced over at Hutch. He was lookin' a little pale, maybe like he'd just been sick or something, but he was smilin' too. He was wearin' a T-shirt and swimming trunks, just like I was, and there was some book in his lap whose cover I couldn't make out.

"This is nice, huh, Hutch?" I asked him, still grinning. There was an open cooler between our chairs, so I reached down and snagged a beer. "Ya want one?"

He shook his head. "No thanks, Starsk. They have me on an IV, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Shrugging, I flipped the top off the beer and took a sip. "So whaddya wanna do? Wanna go for a swim?"

When I looked back over at him, I saw that Hutch'd leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and by the way he was smiling, I knew he was lettin' the sun warm his face. _Good,_ I thought. _The guy could use a tan._ "Maybe later," he said. "I'm kinda tired right now."

He didn't really have to say that, though, 'cause I already _knew_ he was tired, and not just from the look on his face. I could feel it in my bones, kinda like that ache you feel in your legs after a long day of runnin' around. And there was somethin' else, too—this…_other_ ache comin' from my chest, but for some reason, I couldn't think of why that would be hurting or what could be causing it.

Suddenly, Hutch opened his eyes and stared at me. "Starsk," he said, and he looked kinda worried, "am…am I gonna be okay?"

I swallowed. I told myself I didn't know what he was talkin' about, but I think maybe I did. "You kidding? _'Course_ you're gonna be okay. You think I'd let you go anywhere without me?"

Hutch blinked down at his lap for a few seconds, and I saw that he was gettin' that crease between his eyebrows, the one that means he's thinkin' big thoughts. "I…I _died_, Starsky."

I felt myself start shaking. "Yeah, so what?" I said fervently. "Look, you're _fine_, okay? You got through it. The doctors patched you up, and you're _fine_. You're not goin' anywhere." And because I was suddenly feelin' like he might slip away any second, I reached over and took his hand in mine, squeezing it tight—and feelin' him squeeze right back. "You're gonna be _okay_, Hutch. You think a little bullet's gonna do anything but slow ya down? No way. Not my partner." I squeezed his hand again, then carefully let go and gave him my best thousand watt grin. "So c'mon, whaddya say? Enough of this gloomy stuff?"

Hutch finally relaxed when I said that, and gave me a little smile. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," I said with a nod. Suddenly thinking of something, I waggled my eyebrows. "So, ya never did get a chance to tell me about that _cat_ o'yours. Wha' was her name? Marybeth? Marylou?"

"Mari_anne_," Hutch corrected. "Her name was Mari_anne_, Starsk."

"Fine, Mari_anne_. So, go on. Tell me about her."

He shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. Met her at Huggy's. She's a stewardess."

"Tryin' somethin' new, huh, buddy?" I asked dryly.

"You're one to talk."

"Whazzat supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"If I knew what it meant, I wouldn't be _askin'_, now would I?"

"It's never stopped you before."

"You insultin' my intelligence, pal?"

That one earned me Hutch's patented Innocent Look. "No, Starsky, of course not," he said sincerely. "Why would I want to insult something that doesn't even exist?"

I grinned. "Oh, you're gonna get it for _that_ one, Hutchinson. You think you're safe just 'cause you're the convalescent this time? Think again, pal." And before Hutch knew what was goin' on, I'd grabbed a couple pieces of ice from the cooler and stuck 'em down the back of his shirt.

He didn't jump up or yell or anything, but his eyes got real wide, and after he'd managed to fish the ice out, he turned to me and glared so hard I wondered if he might burn a hole through my forehead. "Starsky," he growled.

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. And when I was doubled up with it, hugging my stomach 'cause I was laughing so hard, Hutch took it upon himself to stuff a whole handful of ice down the back of my shirt. I didn't care, though, 'cause even though it was really damned cold, it just felt too good, laughing and joking around with Hutch again. When I finally got control of myself again, I sat back up in my chair, leaned my head back, and looked over at him with a smile.

"I missed ya, Hutch," I said, and even though I was still grinning, my words sounded kinda sad, like maybe I might start cryin' any second. "They said you were only gone for two minutes, but God, I missed ya. It was like…like havin' half of me torn away, ya know? Like I was…like I was missin' some important part of me or somethin'."

Hutch rested his hand over top of mine. "I know," he said, real quietly. "I've been there too, remember?"

I swallowed. "Is that why you did it?" My voice was too soft, not even really a whisper, but I knew Hutch heard me. And knew what I meant.

"Yeah," he admitted, "I guess it was. That kid had you cold, Starsky. After…after Gunther, I swore to myself I'd never let anything like that happen to you again, no matter what I had to do to prevent it."

"But you _died_, Hutch. 'Cause of me, 'cause you were tryin' to save _me_, you _died_. How was I supposed to live with that, will ya answer me that? How was I supposed to live with knowin' that you were dead 'cause of me? 'Cause you were tryin' to protect _me?_"

Hutch smiled a little sadly. "But at least you would've been _alive_."

"You think I'd wanna be alive without you?" The words came out before I could stop them, and I blinked a couple times afterwards, surprised I'd actually said them. They were how I felt, and Hutch _knew_ I felt that way 'cause he felt the same, but there was a big difference between _thinkin'_ them and actually comin' out and _sayin'_ them. And now that they were said, it wasn't like I could take 'em back or somethin'…and I really wasn't all that sure I wanted to.

"It's the truth, Hutch," I went on softly, not looking at him 'cause I knew I wouldn't be able to keep going if I did. "When I thought you were dead—when you _were_ dead—I…I shut down. And if you hadn't'a come back, I…" I shook my head. "I might still be sittin' there in that alley, staring."

"Starsky," Hutch said softly, gently, "no you wouldn't. Somebody probably would've picked you up for loitering by now."

I was quiet for a minute. Then I looked at him. "Was that a joke?"

"Yeah."

"So I'm sittin' here spilling my guts out," I said calmly, "and you're tellin' jokes."

He nodded.

I shook my head, tryin' to keep the grin from pulling at my lips but failing miserably. "You're a piece'a work, you know that, Hutchinson? A real piece'a work." And even though it was awkward around the chairs, I leaned over and got my arms around him and hugged him. And while I was doin' it, I remembered sittin' there in that alley and not even being able to touch him, because touching him would'a made it real and I didn't _want_ it to be real. But now… I could touch him now, 'cause there was nothin' I wanted more in the whole world than for this to be real—for me to really be sittin' here talkin' to Hutch and holdin' him against me, feelin' him breathing and knowing that he was okay, that we were gonna be okay. I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than that.

Suddenly feeling like something was different, like something had _changed_, I opened my eyes…and saw that I was back in the hospital room, sittin' there by Hutch's bed. I blinked a few times, trying to get used to being awake and having Hutch still injured and unconscious beside me, but before I'd quite managed it, I felt a warm kind of pressure against my hand. Looking down, I saw that Hutch was holding onto my fingers, squeezing them gently. His eyes opened to slits then, and he gave me a soft little smile. "You're some piece of work yourself, Starsk," he whispered. And then he closed his eyes again and I knew he'd fallen back asleep.

I sat there for a long time, holding onto his hand and not doin' much more than starin' at him, thinking about how close we'd always been and how impossibly close we were _now_. I mean, feelin' what the other one was feelin', having the same _dreams_? It was unbelievable. Weird, psychic stuff like with Collandra. So why was it so easy for me to believe it now when I had such a hard time buyin' it back then?

Maybe 'cause it was _Hutch_ this time, Hutch and _me_, and what was goin' on between us wasn't anything new. 'Cause maybe…maybe this weird link, this weird connection thing—maybe it's always been there, but we just weren't ready for it yet, not for all of it. I mean, there's been lots of stuff that's gone on between Hutch and me that I can't explain. Times when I've just…known where he was, or that he was in trouble or needed me or somethin'. Times when he's called me right after I had a nightmare, or come over right after I was wishin' I had some company. And one time—God, there was this one time when I was sick with this real bad cold, and I was layin' there in bed and thinkin' that I'd kill for a pizza, and not twenty minutes later, Hutch showed up at my door with exactly that; even got the toppings right.

And then there's our job, how we work when we're out there with our lives depending on each other. We don't need words when we're doin' that, and come to think of it, we never really did. I know, 'cause our instructors at the Academy kept pairin' us off with other cops during training exercises, since we were damned near unbeatable when we were paired together. So I guess we've always had this connection, Hutch and me. There've been times, like in those couple of months before the Gunther thing, when it was kinda weak, when it was really only workin' when we were doin' cop stuff, but it's always been there. And now it's just a little stronger, I guess. It's gone onto the next level, made us a little more into one…one entity. One _being_. And maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.

I stood up a little while after that, yawning and stretching my arms up over my head. Hutch was sleeping peacefully and there was a little bit of light seeping in through the blinds, so I figured it was morning enough for me to be up. I didn't feel like sleeping anymore, anyway—I felt like some _breakfast_. Sure sign everything's okay, when I start gettin' hungry again. I wandered out into the hall, past the nurses' station, and into the elevator, then stumbled out on the second floor and made my way to the hospital cafeteria. They had a pretty decent spread this morning—toast, scrambled eggs, pancakes, french toast strips, sausage—and I was so starved I loaded up my plate with every bit of food I could cram onto it, even some crusty bran muffin that I figured Hutch would like…if he was feelin' up to breakfast, of course. If not, he could damned near wait 'til the nurses brought him something, 'cause hell if he was havin' any of _my_ breakfast.

Hutch was still asleep when I got back to the room, so I settled into my plastic chair, flipped on the TV (keepin' the volume low, of course), and starting stuffing my face. I was about halfway through my third piece of sausage and Wile E. Coyote was fallin' off his fourth cliff when Hutch cleared his throat.

"Do they have anything left?"

I turned around, my mouth full. "Huh?"

He glanced down at my heaping plate and raised an eyebrow. "The cafeteria."

"_Oh_." I grinned, swallowed. "I left 'em a hash brown or two. Oh, and here. Gotcha a bran muffin."

"Gee, thanks, Starsk. You're all heart."

"What? Thought you liked bran muffins."

He looked at me with the most pitiful expression I think I've ever seen. "Well, yeah, I like bran muffins." He sniffled. "But I don't know. I mean, I'm pretty weak. I don't know if I can manage. Those things are pretty chewy, Starsk."

I frowned. "_Chewy_?"

"Yeah." He shifted himself carefully so he was sitting up in the bed, his back propped against the headboard and the pillows. "Now, those _eggs_ you have there…I bet I could handle those."

"Uh-uh. No way. You're not gettin' my eggs, Hutch. I'm _hungry_."

He laid back against the pillows and turned his head away from me, letting out a long sigh. "That's…that's all right, Starsky. After all…you need to keep your strength up. I'll be fine. I'll just…lay here and _smell_ the eggs. That's almost like eating them."

I sighed. "All right, ya big ham. Sit up." I scooted my chair back over to the bedside and laid the tray in his lap. "We'll _share_ 'em, how 'bout that? One bite for you, one bite for me. Sound fair?"

He was still lookin' like I'd just stepped on his dog, but he nodded. "Yeah, sure. If that's all you can spare, then sure, Starsk. I think the doc left me some ice chips, anyway. Those oughta tide me over until tomorrow."

Scowling, I shut him up with a bite of egg. "Keep it up and it's the bran muffin for you, partner." While he chewed, I dug into the eggs again and this time brought the fork to my own mouth. We went on like that for awhile, and pretty soon, we'd finished off the whole plate. All that was left was the muffin.

I held it up. "You want it?"

Hutch made a face.

"Okay." I grinned and set it down on the bedside table. "We'll save it for Dobey."

Hutch was laying comfortably on his pillows now, his eyes on the TV, so I slouched low in my chair and went back to the cartoons myself. It wasn't 'til the next commercial break that either of us said anything.

"Hey, Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

He was quiet for a minute. "It was…real, wasn't it? That dream?"

I felt a little smile pullin' at my lips when I looked at him. "Yeah, Hutch, it was real."

He smiled back. "Good." And then, before either of us could say any more, he winced and shut his eyes—just as I felt a twinge of pain from my upper chest, like somebody was jabbing me there with a knife every time I breathed. I gave Hutch a rueful kind of smile. "Guess the painkillers are wearin' off, huh?"

Hutch's voice was a little strangled. "Guess so." He drew a shaky breath. "It hurts, Starsk. Hurts…real bad."

I grabbed onto his hand and clasped it in both of mine, then held it to my heart, like I'd done when they were rollin' him towards the ER. "I know it does, buddy. But you don't hafta handle it alone, you hear me? I'm right here. I'll take however much of it you wanna give me."

He cracked an eye, looked at me like he thought I was nuts. "_Give_ you?"

"Yeah, give me. We're partners, Hutch. Means we share things."

"Things like _breakfast_, Starsky. Not like—" He winced again, cringing back against the pillows with his eyes squeezed shut. "—excruciating...pain."

"See, that's where you're wrong. That's the most _important_ thing for us to share. Give me some of it, Hutch. Come on. We'll handle it together."

"'Cause everything's…better when it's…together…right?"

I squeezed his hand hard. "Right. C'mon, Hutch. C'mon, buddy, give it up. Let me help ya out."

I don't know what he did or how he did it, but all of a sudden, it was like…like there was more goin' between our clasped hands than just body heat, and pretty soon, it started to feel like my skin was on fire. And not _just _my skin; the pain started way down deep—deep inside my chest—and spread out these long, searing fingers until it seemed like everything but my littlest toe was in agony. I clenched my teeth against it, holding on tight to Hutch—and when I looked at him, I saw that he was staring at me in shock, his eyes all wide and every bit of the pain gone from his face.

_Too much_, he thought, and I didn't even find it weird that I could hear him. _I gave him too much._

There was another sensation, then, like something was being…pulled from me, and just like that, the pain lessened, got down to a bearable level. It still hurt like hell, but not so bad that I didn't think I could handle it—and glancing over at Hutch, I saw the same kind of expression on his face, like he was in pain but not about to pass out from it or anything. I gave him a tight smile, and he flashed one back at me.

Partners.

He nodded.

_Partners._

_To Be Continued…_


End file.
